Chapter 2

After getting in the car, Zoey found the lawyer's number in her contacts list and sent them a message. "Hello, I want to file for divorce and sever ties with my parents. Please draft a divorce agreement and a parental rights termination document for me." The lawyer replied almost instantly. "Understood, Ms. Silvain. I'll draft them as soon as possible." Zoey put her phone away and gazed out the window at the passing scenery. Her memory loss felt like a gift from God—an opportunity to escape and start a new life. "Don't take me home just yet," she abruptly told the driver. "Take me to the immigration office." The driver was taken aback. He glanced at her through the rearview mirror with wide eyes, but he still respectfully responded, "Alright, Mrs. Pearce." The immigration process went smoothly. The staff told her all the papers would be ready within two weeks. When she got back in the car, she hesitated for a moment before saying, "Don't tell Mr. Pearce about where I went today." The driver tightened his grip on the steering wheel. "Mrs. Pearce… Mr. Pearce usually doesn't allow us to mention you in front of him." Zoey tugged at the corner of her lips. So, that was how much he hated her. He didn't even want to hear her name. … After returning to the villa, Zoey stood in the entryway and took in her surroundings. The place felt both familiar and foreign. It was familiar because every little detail reflected her taste, yet foreign because the air was so still and cold that it was hard to believe anyone lived here. Zoey's mind drifted as she touched the embroidered cushions on the couch. She could imagine how delighted and hopeful she must've been when she'd first decorated this place, dreaming of a blissful life with Yves. A wedding portrait hung on the wall. Her eyes were full of love for Yves, whereas his handsome face was cold and indifferent. Zoey shook her head before heading upstairs. After entering her bedroom, she instinctively pulled open a drawer. Right after that, a leather-bound journal slipped out and landed on the floor with a soft thud. Zoey flipped it open and noticed that the first page was filled with messy handwriting, almost as if it was written while she was drunk. "It's our wedding day! Yves didn't say a single word to me before locking himself in the study, but it's okay. I'll wait." As she flipped through the pages, each one cut deeper than the last. "It's my 37th suicide attempt, but he still didn't come to see me. His assistant said Wendy had a fever, and he stayed by her bedside all night. I spent mine in the emergency room, listening to the drips of my IV until dawn." "This is my 89th suicide attempt. This time, I took sleeping pills. When I came to, I overheard him on the phone in the hallway, saying, 'Let her die.' That was when I realized… nothing hurts more than hearing the person you love wishing you were dead." "This is the 108th and last attempt. I've decided to give up. If this doesn't work, I'll disappear for good. No one in this world cares if I'm gone anyway." Zoey snapped her diary shut. Her chest felt as though it was being ripped open. The scars on her wrist started to burn, each one silently screaming out the pain she once endured. Slowly, she sank to the floor and wrapped her arms around her knees. So, this was what her past three years looked like. She lived like a stray, desperate for scraps of affection. "It's okay," she whispered to herself, wiping her tears and sliding her diary back in the drawer. "It's okay if no one loves you, Zoey…" Moonlight spilled through the window, casting a small patch of light at her feet. "As long as you love yourself… you haven't really lost."